


I Laid My Weapons Down (With My Pistol Fully Loaded)

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Post-Divorce, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Love let me breathe</i>
  <br/>
  <i>breathe you in</i>
  <br/>
  <i>melt the confusion</i>
  <br/>
  <i>until there is</i>
  <br/>
  <i>there is you - union</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Laid My Weapons Down (With My Pistol Fully Loaded)

**Author's Note:**

> [title etc from 'Sweet the Sting' by Tori Amos. disclaimer: i don't know these people, and don't claim to. obviously fictional content is fictional. don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin. inspired by a con report from October 2014 that Karl couldn't seem to show up anywhere without headphones slung round his neck.]

_Hey_ , Chris texts, ragged-cuticled finger sliding across the phone screen despite his second-guessing. _I need another ticket._

His PA is only mildly recalcitrant. _Code Blue ticket? Or Code Pink ticket?_

He snorts. _Did you know that pink used to be considered the masculine color?_

She doesn't reply for a while. He supposes he deserves it.

_Check your email._

He has to log out of his normal one and into the other one, which means a password reset because it's been a while—as is obvious by the picture he just saw, the impetus behind all this—

And there it is, pristine. A first class, open-ended, incredibly expensive ticket from Auckland to Los Angeles.

He feels his lips tighten, then tilt upwards, as he forwards the email.

He doesn't let himself look at the picture again, though.

\---

The answer comes three days and approximately twelve time zones later. _Next Wednesday all right?_

 _You know it is,_ Chris texts back. Karl might be a lot of things, but he doesn't go into anything blindly.

 _Yeah, well,_ is the only response he gets. There's so much that goes unspoken there, it chokes Chris a little bit.

He coughs, exhales the cigarette smoke out his nose, and moves on with his day. Mostly.

\---

When he opens the sunroom door the next Wednesday, it's with a cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face.

He can't help it. He fucking loves this guy.

"Those are bad for you, you know," Karl says, his part of the comfortable script down pat by now.

"So I've heard," Chris says, leveraging Karl's bag across the threshold and setting it inside. Then he grabs Karl by the back of the neck and wraps him in a hug, hard and huge like they always do, because, well. He can't help it.

Karl grins back, afterwards. "You got any more?"

"Get inside, Urban."

Karl salutes, then ducks through the entryway, picking up his suitcase as Chris stubs out the cigarette. 

"It's steaks tonight," he says as he closes the door behind them. "Feeling pretty basic."

Karl nods, already headed toward the fridge. "That's all right," he says as he emerges with one of the Frescas Chris keeps on hand, behind the beer, for nights like these. "I am, too."

Chris snorts. "I bet you are." He gestures towards the headphones that are still slung around Karl's neck. "Those are a dead giveaway as to just how basic."

Karl clears his throat, but he doesn't look away. "Yeah, well."

"It's been a while, I know."

"It's been shit, is what I was going to say."

"Yeah," Chris says, freeing the Fresca from Karl's not-so-tight grip and taking a drink. It's super fizzy and sort of tickles. "I heard."

Karl takes the can back. "I don't want to talk about it."

Chris nods, doesn't fold his arms across his chest even though he wants to. "Okay."

"I mean—" Karl stops abruptly, running a hand along his jaw. "I mean I don't think I can. It's still—" He stops again.

Chris steps up to him quietly, twining his fingers with Karl's and bringing them away from anybody's face. "I get it." He shoots half a sardonic grin. "I'm not sure I want to talk about it, either."

Karl's fingers tighten around his for a moment. "That's settled, then."

Chris nods. "Steaks?"

Karl nods back, relief smoothing out his forehead a little. "Steaks."

\---

When all the plates are on the table, Chris fwumps down into his chair and holds up his Nalgene of water (because he's a classy fuck but tonight is not about that. Tonight is about the basics). "Salud," he says, feeling his eyes crinkle with the smile he's trying to hide.

Karl nods, holds up his second Fresca. Only one dimple teases Chris, but he's alright with it. For now. "To life."

\---

Karl is in the shower for a very long time after dinner. Longer than normal. Chris knows better than to worry, but he gets twitchy anyway.

Finally, when the water shuts off, he takes his cue. This is always the same, too, since the first time, when Chris had done it without thinking, chock full of nerves and spastic as fuck.

He knocks three times. "Alcatraz," he calls out. "Okay?"

Karl's laugh comes through the door easily, as does the word after it. The word and the only-slightly-bitter tone. "Poetic."

Chris rubs the back of his neck. He's so close to the door his breath is bouncing back on him. "Yeah, sorry."

Karl opens the door and steam comes shushing out. "Don't be," he says, rubbing a towel over his hair. He's naked but for a slightly wry smile. "You can't help it."

"True." Chris feel his own smirk turn up. It's a damn fine view, okay. He steps forward and palms Karl's hip. With the other hand he sticks out three fingers in a crude gesture. "And that, if. You know." Karl chuckles, like he does every time, and Chris loves him really a lot. "We ready?"

Karl's nod is sure, and that's all Chris needs.

\---

He pulls on that hip, and Karl tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor then comes with him. Side by side until they get to the bed, at which point Karl holds out a hand. "After you."

Chris clears his throat. "Karl."

The hand drops. "Sorry. It's just—"

Chris goes up to him, wraps an arm around that waist again. "I get it." And Karl's lips are pliant under his, generous and welcoming, just as they always are. Just as Karl nearly always is.

Chris figures it's only fair that someone return the favor every once in a while.

\---

It isn't as though they've never done this under other, normal, no-safeword-necessary circumstances. Chris remembers the first hotel room fondly, in fact, and never lets Karl forget the time in the sand at Sydney, because Jesus Christ had that not been worth the clean-up.

Well, it had, but he would never admit that out loud.

It's just that— One time, Chris when had been spread out over Karl, impaled on him for Christ's sake, grasping at what he could reach, fingers sliding slick-slip across sweaty skin, he had slid and slid until his thumb was perfectly flush with Karl's Adam's apple—And fucked if Karl's body hadn't bowed off that bed like an instrument that had finally been played correctly.

"Jesus Christ," Chris had whispered hoarsely.

But Karl had pulled his hand away, sat them up, pushed Chris back down on his dick and fucked him like he meant it. Which he had. "Sometime, I'll let you," he'd said against Chris's collarbone.

With a choked gasp, Chris had come right then and there.

\---

"Is that related?" he'd asked at the next tour stop, while they all jangled around a temporary greenroom. He had gestured at Karl's lapels, between which his shirt was pornographically unbuttoned. "You know, to the—" And he'd moved the gesture sufficiently vaguely to his own throat.

Karl had stopped, looked around, wheezed out a surprised breath. "'Course. I hate the feeling of being constricted, there."

Chris had nodded. And filed it away.

\---

Some days, that light sort of teasing touch, that's enough. Some days, Karl lets his head hang off the edge of the bed just right, and that's enough.

Then there's the days like today, at the ends of weeks where Karl's been wearing a pair of headphones around his neck like a yoke, like it's too fucking much for him to deal with, like he needs the extra weight on such a precious place just to remember. The extra reminder of what could be.

\---

Chris has never been more appreciative of his white bed linens than when Karl Urban is stretched out on top of them, tan and unshaved and relaxed, one knee raised a little, his cock sporting half a chub as it rests near his thigh. 

So he starts there, at the thigh, and Karl's fingers tangle in his hair with an exhalation of some word, maybe a curse, maybe an endearment. Maybe both. He meanders where he wishes, enjoying himself, enjoying the way Karl fades into him, gives himself up so freely and easily as Chris's lips and fingers map his planes and angles.

Chris normally doesn't like his hands. They're pale, they're stumpy, they're bitten. He gesticulates with them out of the drive to articulate impossible things, not because he thinks they're worth showcasing.

But on Karl's body, they are flawless. They play like the virtuoso Chris wishes often, and fleetingly, he could be.

When he reaches Karl's collarbone with his right hand, the other stroking Karl's cock lazily but with purpose, the chest beneath him has begun to rise and fall in earnest. It's an easy, easy slide up to kiss at Karl's mouth, because he loves to be in there for this moment, loves that first surprised puff of air against his lips—

As the back of his wrist pushes firmly against Karl's throat.

Chris has a lot of his weight on Karl's torso so when Karl arches it's only into him, only for him, and it's enough to get Chris's cock fully interested. He doesn't get off on the restriction like Karl does, but he gets off on the fact that Karl gets off on it. Jesus fuck, does he ever.

With a lingering kiss on Karl's open lips, he pulls away momentarily, to finish undressing and grab at the bedside table, which is incredibly disorganized and he mutters a curse at himself for being such a slob.

Then Karl's hand is sliding up his ribs and it's somewhere in the desert between arousing and ticklish as fuck so he does his own arching, fingers clutching at the condom and lube and lungs catching on an embarrassing grunt.

He folds himself over Karl, remembering at the last minute to drop the things in his hand onto the mattress before they can cut into his palm, because he puts all of his weight into his hands and his hips, pressing Karl's thighs apart until his intentions are quite clear.

He holds himself still for a second, searching Karl's face. Karl's eyes widen, then soften, then the dimples appear, and he's looking up at Chris with such challenging affection that Chris almost loses track of what he's doing.

Almost.

He does, however, kiss Karl as often as possible throughout slicking up his fingers and pushing them into Karl one at a time. He just teases him with his free hand, muttering over his throat, fingers grazing, occasionally pressing a knuckle in a line from jaw to collarbone, and by the time he's at three fingers Karl is thrusting helplessly against him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and mouth slackening.

Chris pulls himself up, props himself up on one hand, and guides himself in with the other. He watches Karl's face the whole time, letting the feeling wash up from his dick through his spine to the rest of him as he's completely enveloped.

Once fully seated, his free hand lands on the other side of Karl's head, and Chris has to work to keep it together, because Karl's face is magnificent. He's let his eyes slide shut and his head tilt back and he looks so fucking pleased by it all, by his luck.

Chris pulls his hips back, then thrusts lazily back in. "Eyes open, Karl."

He waits, making small round movements with his hips because he can't _not_ , until Karl's eyes are open and on him, until Karl is looking at him like he's waiting, like he's been waiting too long.

"Fucking beautiful," Chris whispers. Then his hand moves to Karl's throat.

Karl lets out a gorgeous keening noise, and his head tips back. Chris watches, fucking him steadily. He kisses the skin above his thumb, tightens his grip.

When he pulls back, he can see Karl's eyes have become slits. 

"Eyes open, Urban," he has to say again, his voice sliding up a volume setting. He thrusts in with intent, and Karl's body takes the hint, one knee falling back and up until he's open, so open, for Chris. "They're gorgeous," Chris continues, voice rough. His own arousal is spiralling, but he has to get this out, has to get Karl to see. "And they're worth keeping open."

It works. Karl focuses, then, focuses on Chris's face, and the moment becomes liquid. Liquid that oozes through Chris's veins, that shines between them, that pushes him to go faster, to tilt their bodies until it's just right, and he can have his weight on his elbow and get his other hand on Karl's cock—It's like a three-ring circus, and he'll be amazed at his prowess later but for now he's just fucking turned on as hell and wants to come, wants to come really fucking badly—and he wants Karl there, too.

Chris takes a gamble—He loosen his grip and pulls out at the same time, almost all the way, and just holds himself there, eyes on Karl's face, lips close to Karl's but not on them, until he can feel Karl reaching for him, feel the desperation amping up to where Chris's is— and then with a grunt he slams home and regains his grip, only tighter this time, tighter than he's dared before. He can feel delicate movements as Karl's throat works under his fingers, watches Karl's eyes as the pleasure builds, and it's fucking scary and awesome and overwhelming.

Before he knows it, he's coming, and it blanks him out for a second. He pushes himself past it, and is relieved to see Karl's eyes are still wide open, watching him hungrily. He throws all of his remaining energy into stripping Karl's dick, and enjoys every second. He feels it thicken in his hand, hears the signals and feels the tics of Karl's body that he's come to know.

Just as Karl's orgasm starts to hit him, Chris lets go of his throat and hauls him up, pulls him up with strong arms and holds him there, them there, as Karl sucks in air and heaves out nonsense words of pleasure into Chris's shoulder while his come paints the skin between them.

"I've got you," Chris murmurs roughly into the air beside Karl's cheek, knowing Karl in these moments will never hear him, he's too far gone. "I've got you."

He might even mouth the words 'I love you,' but there's no air behind them. He's given all his air to Karl. What's left is just wishing.

\---

The LA night to be found on his roof is almost refreshing after a room full of sweat and come. The inky orange sky hovers over them, farther away at his house than most anywhere else.

"Here," Chris says as he sits, handing Karl the pack of American Spirits. He buys yellows, for these nights. Because Karl shouldn't be having one at all, so Chris's hand always twitches for the ultra-lights, yet he always settles for the lights, their sunny package reassuring and familiar.

He watches Karl light one, then hand it to him, then light another one. It's… it's a Karl thing. Chris doesn't question it. He just pretends he can still taste Karl on the first drag.

"There's going to be a bruise," he says after a moment. He's not sure if he's apologizing or bragging. Probably both.

"Yeah."

They smoke a while longer. Chris can almost feel Karl thinking. He just looks at their hands, their free hands, which are close enough to touch, but aren't quite touching. They've showered, but they're still in that sticky space. Seems like they always will be.

"You wanna talk about it now?" he says finally. Not really expecting an answer.

Karl shrugs. Which means yes. Then he keeps smoking. He gets through most of the cigarette, which with that brand is saying something.

"It's hard," he starts eventually, his voice low. "It's hard because you have this plan, and then…" He gestures, and it doesn't make any sense, but Chris gets it.

Chris has no fucking idea what to say, honestly. So he says the first thing that comes to mind. Not shockingly, it's song lyrics. "I hear life is what happens when you're making other plans, though."

Karl turns to look at him. His eyes stick on Chris's nose, mouth, cheeks, before travelling back to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he says finally.

Chris feels a tickle and looks down to see Karl's hand enveloping his. He looks up, and there's a hesitant but genuine smile on Karl's lips.

Suddenly, Chris feels higher than a fucking kite.

"Yeah?" he says eventually, after he gets air back in lungs.

"You said it first," Karl says, his voice light on the surface but thick like molasses underneath.

Chris's gaze snaps to him. "You… heard that?"

Karl presses his lips together, as if he's not sure he should admit it. "I hear it every time, whether you say it or not."

Chris's heart thumps stubbornly in his chest. "Oh, god," he groans, standing and pulling Karl to him none so gently. "You giant sap, come here."

The kiss is open, greedy, and lazy. Full of air whooshing between them, sweet and thick and smoky. Full of the LA night, and the New Zealand day, and the promise of more to come.


End file.
